Forgetting

she whispers in my ear to gather those

scattered pebbles and dirt and broken

fragments of a bottle of vodka.

she knows that these alleyway pieces

of muck, they were once me. 

maybe you buzzed by the tip of my

earlobe, when i wasn’t watching.

maybe you twisted these earthen  words

into an irregular shape. 

like the day that my left foot slapped

that pattern of footsteps and other

lost things that we dropped

by accident

into nowhere, as the hands clapped

together, and sung ‘noon’. 

i remember your hand dangling like

a string of yarn

from the sooty window, as the train

clik, clok, clik

pushed me backwards into

now. 

it isn’t because i waited for just

one more second

and screamed to the daunting fiery

pendulum, i need more time.

it isn’t because i wasn’t watching when

the black and white world ate your 

pallid reflection.

maybe it isn’t i was.

maybe it’s i am.